Number of days since lockdown: 66

Number of times I have thought about Dominic Cummings today: hardly any. Because he is not the story. Or at least, his trip up North and related dodgy excuses aren’t. Possibly his fomentation of discontent and anti-establishment feeling which led to the Brexit vote are. But we are supposed to have moved on from that.

Anyway, never mind him.

With hindsight, sharing a bed with my 88 year old mother might have been an act of loving kindness after the day she had yesterday, but it wasn’t exactly an aid to good sleep hygiene. While she gently snored, I lay awake for most of the night with a crick in my neck thinking about her and Dad.

When you get to my stage in life and both your parents are still alive, it is tempting to start thinking of them as immortal. Intellectually you know that one day one of them will die, and eventually the other one too. But emotionally you can’t quite believe this will ever happen. The longer they last, the easier it seems to be to indulge in such magical thinking.

And that was where I was when I started writing this diary. I thought that Mum and Dad would always be there, in cosy, old-fashioned Waylands Heath, the house crammed with familar knick-knacks, my father watching Countdown and my mother chuntering on about the neighbours.

No danger of that now, given their recent brushes with mortality. I realise that I have been living in a state of perpetual anxiety for the past seven weeks. I’m not sure I can keep it up.

As it got light, I made a promise to myself. I promised to try a lot harder simply to accept what life has thrown my way and to go with the flow a bit more. I want to appreciate this enforced time caring for my mother, because it is so precious. Even though so much of what is happening is desperately sad and worrying, I want to find a way create some good memories amongst the sadness. And I want to be generous and share the best bits with Lydia too, even if I am doing the lion’s share of the caring. Because she loves our parents just as much as I do and it isn’t her fault that she’s the youngest and still working full time. And I want to help us all face whatever is going to happen next to the love of our mother’s life, our beloved Dad.

So at 7am I went downstairs, shoved on a pair of trainers, took Harvey out briefly (that dog will literally faint if he ever gets a decent walk again), fed him and Mog and made tea and a plate of toast and Marmite for me and Mum.

Hers was strong English Breakfast with a dash of milk, mine was weak Early Grey. She sat up in bed and we munched away companionably, watching Breakfast TV. Dominic Cummings is gradually slipping out of the news, just as Boris Johnson and he must have hoped. It’s now all about Emily Maitlis who apparently said too much on Newsnight, and the new Track and Trace app, which isn’t the full monty but Matt Hancock still says it is our civic duty to lock ourselves away for 14 days should we get the call to do so.

I thought we were still in lockdown, but never mind.

Do they think we are mugs? Yes, probably. And are we? What do you think?

Then Mum had a nice bath and we chose some clothes to suit the warm weather and talked about what we planned to do today, which was not very much other than sitting in the garden doing crosswords and watching old episodes of Call the Midwife on my laptop.

Mog has become very attached to my mother. I am slightly worried she is going to get between the legs of her zimmer frame and cause a terrible accident, but Mum says not to shoo her away. She says she likes seeing her sitting on the garden wall watching over her like an owl. It makes her feel safe.

So that’s what we did. It was a little holiday from reality. We avoided the news for the rest of the day and we didn’t even watch the 5.00 briefing. Instead, we watered the tomatoes and admired my sweet peas and I made a jug of sangria using an old bottle of Beaujolais and some homemade lemonade. We even had crisps.

And then I got a call from the hospital.

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